Death Tide Undertow
by DDorb
Summary: A Cryptek's secret specimen is unleashed: an invincible Deathmark leading a ruthless horde against all in his way. His origins are unknown, his intentions are unknown, and what he plans to do is unknown. His first victim is a colony world, and the unfortunate characters abandoned in its orbit and on its surface, from ancient rulers to misguided Inquisitors, all in a strange land.
1. Episode 1: Marked for Death

The sound of clattering metal on metal echoed down the corridor.

In the dim lighting, flashes of green burst from both ends. Blinding light bounced off the necrodermis on the walls, ceiling, and floor. A stray blast struck a critical point, and a flare of released energy flooded the corridor.

A sparkling mist settled in the dim glow. The flashes of green returned, and once more the hall was filled with flickering, blinding lights.

Hoarse sighs echoed from both sides. One moved forwards, the other backed away. More flashes filled the corridor. Another blast, but the firefight continued. The other side pushed back against their foe with more explosions and hoarse sighs. There was a shriek. They continued to push their foes into the dim abyss ahead of them in one of the ancient ship's main corridors.

They plowed into a large hub with other main corridors branching off it. The corridor that they marched down passed through it, and the others branching off were sealed away. The insurrectionists broke formation and regrouped where the corridor continued at the opposite end of the chamber.

"Forward! Forward!" roared Lord Szazadrekh. Something was behind him, and he swung for it. "Damn Nephalut! That's the last time I'm supplementing privileges aboard my ship!" He looked around, and his eye caught a suspicious glow on a ledge above.

He grabbed the gauss rifle of a fallen warrior beside him. The warrior, open wide by several blasts, reached for his weapon. Szaza's firm heel came down on his head.

"NO!" The Lord said. "You couldn't even hit one of them! Wait your turn." He turned and aimed to the ledge- where the glow _was_. He looked around, and by instinct lunged to the floor. Where he had just stood lay a large fried crater. Slowly the floor healed itself. Prone, Szazadrekh unleashed the gauss rifle at the high points. "Damn you, Deathmark! Damn you to the void! Belakh, wake the Destroyer Lords and tell the Immortals to blockade the other passages! We're pushing this insurrection off the ship!"

Szazadrekh felt the presence of two large swift beings flanking him. He turned and saw that although they came in a timely manner, they were not what he asked for. "Heavy Destroyers?! That's better, and where did you find them?!"

Chirps echoed in the chamber.

"These are Kophtet's?!" Szazadrekh watched the Heavy Destroyers shove aside the warriors, and in sync, clear a path through the enemy lines via superior firepower. "Advance! Advance!" the Lord cried, leaping from the floor. "C'tan damn those Crypteks. I trust them and this happens!"

An electric growl hummed behind him. He turned around to see four obliterated Deathmarks laying in a semi-circle around him. Stained with a burnt black, their metallic flesh not moving to repair, but in a stasis of death. Further behind stood a flayed Cryptek with most of her false flesh roasted off. Her true face, a skull face modified not just to wear a flesh face but to embrace it, showed through where the flesh was roasted off. Her cloak of dried skin was roasted into a singed scarf that covered much of where her flesh had roasted off, primarily around the collar and shoulders, and hung low to occupy the open space where there was no skin.

"Kophtet had some counters to his special toys," Nephalut said. "Trust me or don't trust me, remember this: I always take inventory and leave nothing out." She approached him. "Malat, throw Szaza the other staff. We have a predator to kill."

The small scarab came from behind and with an anxious chirp, tossed the Lord a shorter staff.

"You mean a wand?" Szazadrekh said.

"Wand, staff... So long as it can kill whatever Kophtet was keeping."

"If you say so," he replied. "What about the insurrecters?"

"Contain them. I'll have Malat deal with them later."

Malat, in his lack of size, bounced and chirped with delight. He then scurried off into the shadows.

"Keep pushing that way and we'll have him in the bay," Nephalut said and walked toward the advancing line of warriors. Szazadrekh kept up pace . "I set up a formation to force him down to the planet's surface via teleportation."

The loyal warriors formed their lines behind the Heavy Destroyers as they advanced down the corridor. What had once been a tug of war at a crawling pace was now a brisk jog to victory. Sure, the continuing corridor was now more disfigured and in a state of complete destruction, but Szaza could care for cleanup later. For now he had to get rid of that rogue Deathmark.

"Why send him to the planet's surface when we can kill him here?" He asked.

"Tried killing him before and after I found these. Apparently Kophy hadn't discovered a weapon that could put this particular Deathmark down for long."

"Strange for a unit of infantry to be so resilient. Is he among your kind, those put in the wrong bodies?"

"Not sure," said Nephalut, zapping another Deathmark. "I was with the royalty and the scholarly, not the combatants. If I knew his motives for being so vicious- if Kophtet knew or told us- we'd be in a far better position than we are now."

"So sending him down there solves this how?"

"By giving Kophtet more time to study this bastard and keep him away from the fleet."

They continued to follow the advancing charge through the corridor; tall, dark, and with necrodermis reeking of a scent like a mix of sulfur and blood. The walls, with the ship being under a state of heavy alert, rattled with activity in the maintenance shafts running about.

Sentinels burst from walls, knocking down insurrecting warriors before digging back into the walls again. Scarabs joined in on the chaos, crawling out of the floor and latching themselves to the joints of the mutinous warriors, tearing limb from limb, and severing apart or welding joints stiff.

Lychguards came up from behind the main force charging down the main corridor to the bay. They formed a shield wall in front of the Heavy Destroyers and pushed forward, butchering fallen foes that tried to fight from the floor with their warscythes. Limbs flew, necrodermis hissed, and skulls exploded and imploded in a flurry of neon destruction.

Wraiths came to the aid of the insurrection, but their bodies could not withstand the heavy pounding from the Heavy Destroyers.

Szazadrekh and Nephalut followed the procession, providing oversight and rear support. Deathmarks phased in all around, and the two blasted them apart with specialized staff and wand. One assassin phased in close for a point blank obliteration of Nephalut's skull, only to have a wand plowed into his spine and unleash a torrent of pure fluorescent destruction. His necrodermis screamed, he fell over into kowtow, and Nephalut drove the heel of her staff down upon his skull. His eye exploded and his metallic "flesh" ripped apart.

His aid appeared behind Nephalut. With the flick of Szaza's wrist, the headless Deathmark collapsed behind her. Ten more appeared around them. Back to back they took on the relentless phasing deathsquad. "Malat! You and the other Scarabs organize the fight with the automatons and the Lychguard! Szaza and I will take it from here!"

Malat chirped and leapt away, not before tackling a Deathmark before it could phase out. Nephalut popped the heads and limbs of the three closest to her, drove the head of the staff into the fallen Deathmark's chest, and blasted him with the full power of the staff. His body shriveled with a soulless hiss, and exploded. An opening to a pocket dimension opened as result, and with a charged staff to the chest, a fifth Deathmark was shoved into opening before he could explode into a confetti of chrome shavings and green pulsing embers.

Szaza jabbed his wand into the eye of another Deathmark and popped its skull. He ducked before another Deathmark could take a shot at his head, and flicked his wand at that Deathmark's shoulders. The Necron Lord rose and with a foot to the Deathmark's chest slammed him into the wall, and blew his head off with an underhanded wand flick. A Deathmark phased in above him, mid-leap, and aimed for the Lord's head. With an over-shoulder flick, Szaza made his assailant's chest rip itself open, stunning the Deathmark. Szaza then caught him by the ribs and shoved him into another Deathmark Nephalut corned against the portal, and the two assassins tumbled inward. Nephalut made sure neither survived with one more blast from her staff. Out the portal spewed a glowing green mist and matching sparks and embers to go along. Then it closed.

The tenth Deathmark appeared behind them, two rifles in both hands. "Down!" Nephalut said, and Lord and Cryptek dropped to the ground. The Deathmark stumbled back and tried to readjust the aim of both rifles, but the Lord's wrist was quicker. Two flicks and the forearms of the Deathmark came off. Nephalut rolled on her back and swept her staff at its feet. The Deathmark phased out before it hit the ground, and phased back in on its feet.

With both ends of the staff, Nephalut lammed the Deathmark's body relentlessly. With both hands incredibly dexterous, she grabbed both ends of her staff and bunted him. He stumbled back, phased out, and phased back in only to have a wand be where his eye was supposed to. It wasn't his bad timing mostly, but rather Szazadrekh's good throw. The Deathmark struggled to phase out again to collect himself, but couldn't. His limbs and portions of his torso sporadically phased in and out.

Szazadrekh stepped up to the stunned Deathmark, grabbed the wand, and flicked his wrist while driving the wand deeper into the Deathmark's skull. Tiny screams came from the tenth Deathmark before being launched off the wand, slamming into the wall down the corridor, and imploding.

If the Lord and the Cryptek could, they would have breathed. Nonetheless they made the noises just to let out the stress of the fight. The Lord was the first to imitate catching his breath and turned to Nephalut. "After this I'm never ever allowing a Deathmark on my flagship. Ever."

Nephalut caught hers and stabilized herself on the staff. She looked for a moment at the Lord. Peeling off the burnt skin that she wore for a face, she said, "And the last time I'm ever working with another Cryptek like Kophtet."

"Azultep won't be bringing him back here anytime soon, I don't care what he says. Kophtet has some answering to do, and at a distance. You? Your fine. Just let me know when you're going to open another one of his gifts."

"Keep the wand," she said. "Even when we drive them off the ship, I doubt that will be the last we see of them."


	2. Episode 2: Ricochet

She stood with the flames behind her back. A black cloud billowed overhead. Frenzied civilians brushed against her as they fled. She cocked the salvaged rifle in hand, the interrogation cut short by the ignition of the gas main, followed by a several loud booms and flashes. She was free from bondage, but not from duty. Even though she'd consider the populace heretical, there was no better time than the present to show the glory and mighty of the Emperor.

She walked against the flow of foot traffic on the main road, shoving aside civilians with the barrel of the rifle. She felt safe from scrapes, cuts, and bruises with riot gear on her back. She'd feel safer with a larger caliber weapon, but any caliber was better than the nine millimeter pistols her captors usually toted. They weren't prepared for this kind of chaos, and every officer fled the building as the rupturing gas lines weakened the structure.

The farther she went the louder the screams became. She fired into the air, and the wails lowered. She squinted her eyes, looking into the distance. Figures with twitching postures sauntered after the crowd. She picked up her pace into a light jog with the firearm at her hip. Citizens charging her way she shoved aside with the barrel of her gun. Some she shoved to the ground, and as they tried to pull themselves up she marched over them, sometimes driving her heel down on their anxious faces. They were heretics. And although she was glad to do them a favor in His Holy Honor, she spat on whatever pride they tried to impose. Pride was for the faithful, not the infidel.

She stopped as the back end of the crowd hurried by, hands flailing while they cried in terror. She looked back on the week with embarrassment. There were things - dreams, fantasies, and attitudes - that she regretted. She needed cleansing, and so did the world, and what better way of cleansing herself of the vile filth that had entered her than by destroying this likewise sudden filth having come in her way.

Before she could gather her focus and aim upon one of the offenders, the authorities came to her side. Like the unholy horde approaching, there were too many for her to even spray at. Still, she was ready to take on a sudden, unpleasant change of situation. She had confidence, unlike before where she was naked, to take them on. But to her disappointment they took arms beside her with their pathetic pistols.

In their eyes was a familiarity for those approaching. She guessed they were neighbors, friends, and even family members. It was this sympathetic familiarity that held not only their gazes but their trigger fingers as well. They stared at the approaching horde with confusion and agony.

Having no connection to the inhabitants of this world, she aimed from the hip at the closest approaching foe, shambling in an unnatural, twitching manner. His eye sockets glowed a deep red, the balls having been there missing, probably popped out by whatever possessed him. But before she could pull the trigger, he crouched low and then threw himself into the air, jumping higher than any man she had seen jump before without the aid of a jetpack.

Immediately she unloaded the magazine into the airborne body, embers and ash flaking from it as each bullet tore at it. He plummeted to the ground, exploding in a blast of fluorescent pink as he slammed head first into the pavement. A small mechanical scarab popped from the crushed corpse and tried to get away, but with precision her rifle tore away at it, surpassing its self-repair systems and causing it to explode in a similar flurry in front of her.

The guards looked at her, stunned. She could have made a long, heroic speech, but instead she settled for, "Purge the lot!" followed by her emptying another magazine into another leaping foe.

One guard recognized his wife from among the defiled crowd, and ran towards her. The Inquisitor turned her aim to him, and as he embraced his beloved she unloaded with the utmost prejudice every bullet made available in that magazine. The rounds tore through husband and wife, and before she could flay him with her clawed fingers they both exploded in a bloody flaming fury, their howls sending chills down the spines of his fellow officers.

The attack was on, with the approaching menace leaping into the air at the defenders. The Inquisitor backpaced, unloading whatever ammunition was immediately available to her. Bodies hit the ground in front of her, bursting open and unleashing what bionic insect menace had found its way inside.

Of the humanoid foes she defeated, some of their machine parasites made their ways to the frenzied line of guards, firing away in futility with their tiny caliber pistols while crying out how unprepared they were for this.

She tried blasting away the parasites making their way up the guard's legs towards opens orifaces, the favorite being in the guard's pants. Yet her efforts were in vain, as she ended up wounding the officers and making it easier for the parasites to enter them.

With the situation escalating, she abandoned all sympathy for these ignorant local law enforcement agents and emptied into them to rip limbs, shatter joints, and cut muscle tissues around the thighs and calves.

Even so, there were too many parasites and transformed hosts for her to shoot at, and soon she followed after the crowd, occasionally turning back to drop another one of the pursuers.

In the corner of her eye she spotted a group of black robed individuals crying out in a strange tongue holding open canisters. She strayed from the crowd, set her gun to semi-auto, and followed a winding path through alleyways and gardens until she flanked to their rear. She opened the window of a nearby home, entered, and climbed to the third story, then opening a window facing the back of the group. She trained her iron-sights, switching from head to head. Her foot closed the door behind her and kicked a chair against it. The wood on wood thud was masked with the echoing gunfire, explosions, and screaming coming in from all directions.

She looked back through her iron-sights. She steadied her breath and blinked. When she could feel her heartbeat slow, she adjusted her rifle. She pulled the trigger. On the street three heads popped, tomato juice and bubble gum splattering in all directions. The rest turned ducked and ran, and all but one were pinned by consecutive shots.

The magazine clinked against the floor and a fresh one she slammed into the rifle. She ripped back the bolt handle and aiming again. Casings rattled against the floor as she continued to empty the magazines into the persons of interest, sparing only one who clung to a container with all might, still shouting out in an indiscernible tongue.

She exited the building, switching the rifle to auto and remaining vigilant for the one hooded figure that escaped. She came a few dozen paces close to the dying man, and took cover around a corner. She heard the foot steps and mumbling of another, and someone saying "thanks". She turned out of corner and spotted the unpinned target and blew his face wide open, strawberry juice splattering over the dying hooded man.

She approached him, the rifle's iron sights an eye on him, her other two eyes looking around. She rolled him over. He clung tightly to the canister. Barrel pressed against his head, she asked, "What is your goal?"

"They're coming."

"Who?"

He chuckled.

She tried prodding his arms off the canister. He hugged it tighter. "They're coming!"

She shot the tender portion of his arm and it fell to one side. "Cut the pronoun game. Use a proper noun or I will blow your skull open and search for 'who' inside."

"The ancient ones, they come from their tombs!"

"When where why and how."

He chuckled again.

She responded with lead between his eyes and pulled the canister from his arms. She flipped it over and shook, but nothing came out. It was empty. She picked up the nearby lid, sealed the cylinder shut, and carried it under her arm.

Bodies before her, behind her, and to her sides, and the city burning around her, she shouldered her rifle and walked down the street.

She came across an intersection where this road met the main road. She turned onto it, walking by bodies and smoldering wrecks. She made her way back to the guard's stench of dead corpses and molten metal stung her nostrils as she approached her former prison. She walked up the stone steps and past the towering pillars, into the lobby.

In the lobby bodies were strewn over floor and furniture. and towards the center of the building the flames still consumed, roaring, growling, and hissing as the Inquisitor overlooked the destruction.

Through a labyrinth of offices, hallways, and utility corridors she found her way to the chamber containing the "cells" and recognized one of her old confinements. Others were toppled from the blast, crushed by fallen support beams, or still stalwart in their position, holding unfortunate souls inside. She passed through this room with weapon drawn. Pools of blood stained the floor, some dried, others steaming in the heat.

She proceeded down the corridor at the other end of the vast room. She followed signs reading, "Communications". A few minutes passed and she came across metal doors, locked. She looked around at the hall, sweat still dripping from the intense heat. She turned back and explored the corridor further until she found the chief guard. He sat there and looked at her. She reached into his pocket and pulled out a keycard. In his trembling hands he held a screwdriver and a pin. She took both. He opened his mouth to speak, and all that came out was a sign of agony. Her gun cracked, relieving him of his misery.

Back at the doors marked, "Communications", she waved the card by the reader.

"System malfunction," a voice said.

She tossed the card aside and pried the reader from the wall with the screwdriver. Using the pin, she bound two wires together, resulting in a few clicks from the doors. She pulled them aside and entered the room, rifle at the ready.

Slumped over the controls was a passed out operator. She threw him off. He hit the floor and groaned. She aimed for his head and with a single round spilled the raspberry cranium jam all over the floor.

He fingers tapped away, and a printout of an encrypted message spat out from the side of the machine. She ripped the paper out and read over it.

 _Four strangers at address 2584 32 25 1287. Awaiting your interrogation results and advice._

She would have to find a means of decoding the coordinates and finding transportation. She left the comms room and made her way to various remaining armories and the cafeteria in the headquarters to stock up on ammunition, food, and other supplies for a long trip - her questions weren't going to answer themselves.

She stepped on the fallen front doors above the stone stairs, rifle over her back, snub-nosed shot pistol, grenades, and one of those cursed nine millimeter pistols that could neither kill or hurt the new enemy, only slow them. She'd find comfort in a team, but there was no one else on this planet she was sure she could trust. With a heavy sigh she descended the steps, sun sinking behind the black pillars of smoke before her.


	3. Episode 3: Intruder Found

Making her way back to her lab, Nephalut swung the staff, launching blasts of energy in random directions leaving a trail of craters. It was a good staff. Before, she rarely used weapons. Gauss Flayers and the rest of the ranged Necron armory weren't her forte, nor did they interest her. Sure, they were empowering if she were the only one in the room wielding one. Yet how plentiful they were reduced how empowering having one was - everyone would have an equal or better chance of wounding her, regardless of skill.

Terran weapons were always fun. Punching holes by lobbing round chunks of metal. They did pose a threat once the chunks got large enough or when the punishment overloaded the Necrodermis' regeneration, but soon that concern and the fun of using them would be gone. A strange helper left her containers filled with a darker, lighter form of the living metal. A strange alloy it was. Who could produce this and why would they deliver it to her? Were they the same person who gave Kophtet the staff, wand, and the invulnerable Deathmarks? She was sure her fellow Cryptek didn't find those on his own, and she had some doubt in him developing them.

Both staff and wand seemed to be made of this material, making them light and easy to use. When she touched the staff it became an extension of herself, acting like an extra limb her body had ignored all this time. Its light weight was deceiving as the punch, from what she'd felt, could be as brutal as the tip of a warship slamming into one's face at the speed of light. She wondered if Azultep had anything in his ancient armory to match his weapon. Perhaps she could even take on the Silent King herself if he ever showed up. Or maybe that extra-galactic infesting horde known by many as the Tyrannids. She'd like to see how the staff would perform against one of those pestilent hive fleets.

Malat hopped onto her shoulder.

"If I lose this. . . I won't." Whereas one could survive a barrage of Gauss Flayers (if they were nimble or quite resilient), so far the staff had proven capable of guaranteeing a crippling, if not fatal, blow.

Falling into the wrong hands wouldn't be a happy occasion, nor would it be any happier if that special Deathmark got ahold of it. "But I have an idea," she said. Malat made eye contact with her, perched on her shoulder. She entered the lab and noticed a peculiar person still bound.

"You're still alive?"

The Terran nodded at the machine. He recognized her, given the shreds of skin she still wore.

She pointed her staff at him. "Keep it up." And left him there as she went into the second chamber of her lab.

A while later she came out. The near-dead Terran turned his head to her. His fingers twitched as his bruised arms sagged in their bindings. "Catch!" she said and threw the staff at him.

He opened his mouth, and before he could bite down on it the flying pole flew back into her hand.

"Keep it up," she said and left the room. Malat scurried over to the Terran and sprinkled water on his tired face.

There, it's solved, she thought. And a few new moves. Those she planned to practice in front of Lord Szazadrekh, who was probably doing one of two things. Either he was sitting his throne or he was walking around to look busy, comfortable in his general boredom when there was nothing else to do. Not having anything to do was normal for the Lord, and the idea of infringing on his right to be bored never came to Nephalut's mind until now.

Szazadrekh sat on his throne, the sooty remnants of the cigar rubbed all over his toothy "mouth", carved grooves on his faceplate. Chin on palm, elbow on knee, he gazed into the nothingness that inhabits an eternal mind. His eyes glowed dim and his back hunched over. The only thing other than nothing running through his mind was the fuzzy memory that he should be doing something right now.

"Belakh, do something important." Nothing was happening other than the usual and the repairs going about around the ship. He had no opinion about the cigar; if he had one it must've burned up with it. He wasn't in the mood to have an opinion right now. That battle took a lot out of him, or so he told himself.

This is what I always do between the active parts, he thought. Sit and do nothing. An afterlife I can't hate or love. Who could've guessed boredom was actually an interesting and fun activity? Truly, it is the activity and the duty of us royalty who "live forever". Once everything's said and done, rather than die we just sit down and spend the rest of eternity in a limbo between active duty and retirement. What's even better is that the wealth I saved up before the great slumber doesn't exist any more, and I don't need it. Nothing to buy, nothing to envy, nothing to do. Maybe a political uprising amongst the dynasties? What about taking back the corrupted dynasties infected with flayer-ism? What about taking back the galaxy for a glorious Necron dominated millenium? Meh. For now, the boredom will do-

His eyes glowed bright-the staff stopped in front of his face. It flew back into Nephalut's hands.

"Ah, Nephalut. How's that jaw coming along?"

"Pretty well," she replied. "Mind if I move some stuff in here? I've come up with a few modifications for our fancy sticks."

"Not until you bring my new jaw with the hinges-"

A loud p-tang! shattered the stillness hanging over the conversation.

Eyes burning up, Szazadrekh reached upwards and caught his new "jaw"-his split lower face-swinging to the side. "Excuse me?"

Nephalut slammed the staff against the floor, however she underestimated. She stumbled, as the force of the staff shook the chamber and put a giant dent in the living metal beneath her. She used the staff to steady herself, and then said, "I'll get you a jaw, but I insist we do the modifications first or else you might loose that wand of yours like you almost lost your chin."

Szazadrekh pressed his freely hanging jaw against the bottom of his face. "Good idea-"

"I'll be modifying your arms by applying new necrodermis that interacts with our own quite well. I've still yet to figure out how to replicate this substance, as it was a gift from a stranger."

"Certainly not Kophtet," Szazadrekh said, patting his chest, sides, thighs, and calves, shaking his scaly royal garb, and even trying to reach under the plating that surrounded his large body.

Nephalut tilted her head. She figured what he was trying to do, but what he wouldn't admit to doing. "Need any help?"

"No-" He said before feeling the force of twenty thousand white dwarfs slam into his torso, plow him through the throne (ripping off the back of the chair), hurl him across and slam him into the wall creating one wide and deep dent with chunks of necrodermis flying off.

Before the throne, one end of the staff hung in the air where Szazadrekh just was. A little steam rose and condensation covered the end - from the intense heat, resulting from the immediate compression of the gasses between Szazadrekh and the end of the staff before impact, and the kinetic energy not transferred released as heat, immediately cooling after the staff hit its target.

Szazadrekh pried himself from the fractured wall and hopped down. He pointed to the staff. "I don't like you having that," he said. "Especially when you're this able-"

He crashed into the wall, putting another dent into it.

Nephalut caught the returning staff with a sharp ping! that ricocheted around the room. A resulting sonic boom dented the wall behind behind Nephalut.

Szazadrekh looked up and saw her step down the high dais where his broken throne stood, the back of it shattered, and head straight for him. He patted down again, his horror displayed in frantic efforts to find the wand. He looked down just to make sure he wouldn't miss it.

He shuddered as the staff end pressed against his forehead and pushed his head up. "Found it," Nephalut said. She waved it by the tip, playfully.

"Give me the wand. Now." Nephalut could feel the heat of his burning eyes from where she stood.

"Really?" She extended her staff and pried him back on his feet- "I didn't know you were afraid of death."

A wraith burst out of the dented wall, the structure slowly mending itself, and lunged for the shattered throne. Seconds later it was back in shape and the Lord made his way over and sat down on it. "I don't know with that." His finger aimed at the staff. "Now can I have my wand?"

"Have you become so weak you can't get it yourself?" Nephalut said. She tossed and caught it over and over.

If Nephalut didn't have both the staff and the wand with her, he would've summoned every able-bodied automaton to take her down. But with the staff in her possession and this new Necrodermis binding it too her, disarming her was a fantasy. However, the wand wasn't bound to her.

He lowered his patience, stood up, and stepped down to the top stair's edge. "Could you say that a bit closer?"

She stepped forward to the bottom stair. She's in range, he thought. "Well?" she said. "Are you going to come and get it or am I just gonna stand here and tease you? I never knew you liked to be teased."

"Nor did I know you to be the one to act like a stray house cat when the other person you're concerned about isn't around." He stepped down another stair. "I always took you for the boring, 'I sit by my glyphs till I rust' kind of guy-girl-whatever you identify yourself as. It appears to be that I've been wrong all along." He took off his royal scaled cloak and held it in his fist. "I'm beginning to question the nature of what you do when no one is looking. Maybe I should revoke some privileges."

"Do that and you wont be getting this back any time soon."

"You're going to hand it to me? I thought you wanted me to come and get it myself. Thus I would be doing all the effort." He stepped down another stair. "Surely your a Cryptek of your word."

"I am," she replied.

"Or so I'd guess before now. You seem to be a different person with that staff around. Maybe I should take it as well."

"Try."

"I will-" He threw his cloak in front of him and sidestepped as it wrapped around the spinning projectile. The staff flew by him and he lunged.

Nephalut saw the larger Lord falling on her and instinctively threw both arms up to break his fall. He would tackle her before the staff returned. Then she spread her arms, realizing that even with them out, she'd be crushed-as well as her staff was now likely to be on the return-

Szazadrekh felt that same terrifying force plow into his back. Fortunately, the staff hit parallel to his spine. Unfortunately, the force smashed him into the Cryptek and drove the two through the floor into a chamber they weren't aware of.

When the dust settled the two "opened" their eyes and saw that they were face to face. His body was against hers, and her arm came to rest on his back with the staff. Their hands clutched the wand, while Szazadrekh's arm wrapped around her back.

"So, uh... Quite the waltz we're having?" A voice said.

Nephalut and Szazadrekh flicked the wand in the direction it came from and heard a tiny shriek from where the bolt of energy crackled.

"Get off me." Nephalut said and took her arm off his back. "Take your wand and get off. Now."

The Lord rolled off her and the two rose to their feet. He beat the dust out of his cloak while she walked over to see who was lurking at the far end of the forgotten chamber.

She approached and found a auto-maton scorpion. She ripped off its tail and obliterated the severed limb with a blast from her staff.

"Someone's been living down here," Szazadrekh said. "Belakh, can you light it up?"

The chamber glowed an eerie amber. Lord and Cryptek looked around and found unmarked containers upon unmarked containers, of different sizes, stacked and tucked away.

"I... Did not know there was a cargo hold down here," he said. "I don't recall this being a part of the ship at all..."

Belakh chirped through the glyphs.

"But it is part of the ship," Szazadrekh added. "Otherwise Belakh wouldn't have access. In that case, Belakh! Have some sentinels, scarabs, and wraiths run some checks. I don't like having surprises like these aboard my flagship."

He looked to a set of crates and saw a patch of fuzz spreading across the floor. "Nephalut, come here. We have something."

"No. No we don't." Nephalut said. "I was just messing with you. I didn't mean to attract your passion. No offense but you're not my kind of Lord."

Szazadrekh turned his head and pointed. "I did not mean that. I meant that!"

She walked over and saw what he was pointing to.

"You want to retrieve it?" He asked.

She looked at the ork head in the center of the patch, spores floating off its skin. With wands, staffs, strange compartments, and crazed Deathmarks on the loose, the last thing they needed was an ork infestation. "Recent events have depreciated his research value. I'd rather exterminate him."

Staff and wand, they obliterated the growth.

"Here's his friend," she said, holding up the little automaton, its belly facing outward. "He may be of use."

Szazadrekh looked at the markings on the automaton's belly. There was an older set of glyphs, but over them was painted the markings of none other than...

"Kophet," Szazadrekh sighed. "Nephalut. Either you're pulling my leg and trying to win my favor or this is true."

She shrugged. "Up to you."

"Though, given what his record... I will put my trust in you." He looked up. "Belakh, get a security detail down here. Also, let the rest of the fleet as well as Azultep's know the threat of Cryptek Kophtet. As for our fleet, have his entry privileges revoked from here on. If anyone sees him, he is to be immediately apprehended and disarmed. He has some answering to do." He turned to Nephalut, and held her at wand-point. "If this is by any chance some sophisticated plot to remove him, or you undermine my trust in any other way, expect similar treatment."

"In that case," Nephalut said with a grin. "Let's get you those modifications so you can properly punish me." She started to climb her way up a few crates to the opening above.

"And I thought you said I wasn't your kind of Lord." He followed suit, climbing up behind her.

"Quit dreaming," she said and kicked him back down.


	4. Episode 4: Shadow of Death

She did not know their whereabouts, yet she kept driving, plowing through the sea of shambling "Turned", as she called them. She found an APC with lightly armed guards around it. They tried to stop her, but the shambling horde following her distracted them. She drove away from their cries.

The armored vehicle crashed through trees. Falling trunks crushed bodies. The Turned splattered across the front of her vehicle, and the little parasites within them were thrown into the foliage. Main roads were swarming with the Turned and armed forces. She tried not to cross them, but when she did, she indiscriminately drove through anyone in her way.

She followed what signs still stood, and drove farther from the city, over which a giant cloud of smoke plumed above, followed by explosions that could be felt miles away. As she did so she found wildlife also infected. Four-headed Turned cats lunged at her vehicle. The APC jolted as each body slammed into the front and to the side. Their numbers increased once she entered the plains, and some of them began biting chunks of metal off the vehicle. She throttled the engine and a cloud of smoke spewed from the spinning tires, the vehicle blazing away from the metal-hungry horde in pursuit.

Never before had she encountered anything close to this. From what she remembered, not even the heart of heresy, Chaos, had anything close to the complete corruption of these undead legions. Neither did the Tyranids. She did remember rumors of undead machines going around called Necrons, but she dismissed the sightings and encounters as merely heretical off-shoots of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Even if Necrons were a thing, she did not recall nor could she imagine them having such an uncontrollable weapon that human cults could get their hands on. And on that note, she remembered that there was still a cult to investigate.

Weeks passed. She spend days driving and at night, she would park it under thick foliage, inside caves, town garages, or anything that would put it out of plain sight. She looked in some of the APCs storage compartments and found rations to last her for a few months. When it came to water and sleep, she snoozed in patterns that gave her enough rest so that when it started to rain, she would drive out and use the rain collectors on the roof of the vehicle. Besides having a deep fuel tank, the APC also came with spare gas canisters. The vehicle was built for survival, and she understood why.

There was much wilderness between settlements, even the large ones. Most of the time the terrain was uneven, and when whether came in it turned the uneven terrain to impossible to traverse without suspension and firm treads. Often she'd come across snowy regions which the APC plowed on through. Other times there would be marshlands which took weeks to cross. The bridges covering which had either fallen into the water or were covered with Turned. She kept the APC on the muddy and at times sunken roads besides the supporting columns. She was the only person around, as it seemed though everyone else had, for the most part, either died or were Turned. And the more she traveled the more she began the noticed the Turned assimilating not only humans and domestic life, but also the wildlife.

It wasn't long before the fuel ran out and she had to use the gas canisters. A few more weeks of surviving, and the tanks were empty once more. The last two settlements were piles of rubble topped with a thick layer of shambling Turned, so no stopping there. She scavenged through the back and found a portable fuel pump. She salvaged fuel from the wrecks she came across. Some days she came upon small clusters of a dozen cars or so, others she came across traffic jams. However she was never able to completely fill the deep tank of the APC, as the Turned would soon wander in her direction.

When the roads became sparse and there were no more signs to follow, she turned to the wall map in the back of the vehicle. She'd drive for a few hours, stop, head into the back, meditate on the route, and continue driving. She at first believed she knew where she was going, but soon enough forgot where she was headed to and realized she had no idea where she currently was. The tedious effort drove her mad. She sometimes contemplated ending it and killing herself. But she kept driving until she almost ran out of fuel. And when she did, she made quite the discovery.

She came across a large tent city surrounding one side of the mountain. At the base was what appeared to be a dig, and what was being dug looked like a temple hewn into the side of the mountain, or perhaps buried under it. When coming close for further inspection she noticed that there were bodies scattered around with weapons. However the windows of the APC could provide only so much perspective on the situation, and so she climbed into the turret. Then she heard the crackle of gunfire, bringing a tide of relief over her. There was someone else alive! The sounds seemed to emanate from the upper slope of the mountain. She hopped into the driver's seat and driving on fumes throttled the vehicle up the road weaving up the steep rocky face.

Eight sharp turns and harsh inclines later, a barricade stood in the way of the road. She forgot where she put her gun so she took a revolver with her. She climbed over traps and inched through minefields into a cave. "If you don't talk I'll start shooting!" she said as she entered.

A gun reported. She dodged into cover behind a rock. She fired off a few rounds.

"Another living person?" the male voice said, followed by a few more shots. "Come closer so I can see you bleed. No hard or personal feelings."

"You first," the Inquisitor replied.

"Ladies first."

"If such were the case none of us would be born. How many are you?"

Two bullets ricocheted off the floor.

"Two?" she asked.

"How many are in your party?" the manly male voice asked.

She fired a shot.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, before firing off bursts.

"Maybe the same as you," she replied. "Trying to survive and find an end to this chaos." She unloaded a few rounds in the general direction the voice was coming from.

"Really now?" he asked, followed by the tink tink of a grenade bouncing her way.

"So who's the other person with you?" she asked and turned away from the blast.

"Seeker Demmel-" Another boom.

"And you?" she asked, kicking the third grenade thrown at her back into the darkness of the cave.

"Captain Cox, the best goddamn adventurer you've ever hear of." Another burst of rounds her way. "I return the question." Tink tink.

Boom. "I've never heard of you," she said and returned fire. "While I'm impressed with our conversation, I have to say I've seen better."

"I'm certainly not doing this for show," he replied and fired down the hallway. "It's just when you've seen all your company turn into those things you have a hard time trusting people. I've bound and gagged the Seeker, which is why I'm the only one talking."

She tossed a mag around the rock. "How about this, we stop wasting ammo and have a sit-down."

"You could be one of them," Cox replied. "With the way those things adapt, who's to say that they haven't learned out to talk through their host?" No gunfire followed his words.

"Alright, how about this. I holster my gun and come at you hands over head. If you don't like me, you can shoot all you like. Deal?"

"Deal."

She did as she said.

From the light at the end of the cave, Captain Cox saw a silhouette of a woman in a military long coat. Behind him crackled the embers of a fire pit, and the closer she came the more the dim glow revealed about her. Her clothing had certainly seen better days, parts of it in tatters or stained with oil, gas, and blood. "Sorry about the appearance," she said. "Used to have better clothes, but a few things along the way took care of that."

"Stop." He reloaded his revolver, pulled back the hammer, and aimed. "You still haven't told me who you are."

"Given that we've probably gone through enough to care less about names, call me whatever you want."

"Annoying Woman sounds lovely. Demmel?"

The short, bald man in black robes nodded.

Cox grinned. "Lucy will do." He lowered the revolver.

"Lucy it is," the Inquisitor replied.

"Now get behind me before some of those monsters come through the mouth and I have to shoot through you."

"Better idea," she said. "Show me fuel and I'll show you a way out of this. APC outside. Ammo and guns."

"I have supplies," Cox said, nodding to three duffel bags. "Should last a couple of weeks, enough for some scavenging. I'm also one of the best hunters around-"

"Wildlife have joined the ranks of the Turned."

Cox kicked a rock, his boot tip splitting it in half. "And I was beginning to have wet dreams for venison."

"If your still in it for the kills, there's no better time then now. The fawns stumble over-"

"A great sportsman does not hunt the weak," Cox said. "In any case, we'll join you seeing as my plans for a glorious dig have turned to dust because of this."

The Inquisitor looked back. "What were you digging, anyway?"

"An old complex. Either an elaborate temple or a buried city connecting to a network underground. I'd love to show you my handiwork, but I'd rather keep skin on my back."

"We can drive through that large entrance at the foot of the mountain-"

"Too dangerous," said Cox, combing his fingers through his 'stache. "Let's get to your vehicle first, then we can talk more about our impending doom."


	5. Episode 5: Rise of a New Terror

The three made their way to the APC. Inside, Cox located them on the map and showed Lucy what settlements would likely be either inhabited by normal folk and which would be key looting spots if not. He also pointed out through one of the windows where they kept their fuel.

They emptied the fuel towers that stood on an elevated mound beside the communications trailer. Cox joked about his jealousy that he did not own a vehicle like the APC any sooner as it would've saved him much stress in his earlier adventures. Lucy asked if he'd encountered enemies like this before. He denied it, but said he was eager to fight. "Nothing like a life-threatening challenge to keep the adrenaline flowing!" he said.

Not long after his statement did the three feel the ground shake. She closed the fuel hatch and he jumped inside and manned the turret. Following the adventurer and Demmel, she hopped into the driver's seat. Behind them, through the turret sights, Cox sighted something moving in the distance. Zooming in with the telescopic lens he noticed it was a convoy. Yet the convoy was unusual with how close the vehicles were driving to each other, it as if they were cells in an organism. To this he raised his eyebrow.

"Friends of yours?" He said.

Lucy came over and looked through the turret sights. "No."

"Whoever they are, they're drawing a horde of Turned behind them."

"I see."

"By the looks of it, they'll be here in-"

"Fifteen minutes."

"You've been in the military? Otherwise those are some good guessing skills you have there, miss."

She dismounted from the turret. "You could say."

He looked to Demmel. "Keep an eye on him, I'll grab some artifacts." Cox leapt out the back, leaving Lucy on the turret.

Cox returned a couple of minutes later pushing a flatbed trolley loaded with unmarked crates. "Help me load these in the back. There's some equipment in there as well, and personal effects of mine and his." The Inquisitor rushed to help him load the crates in the back of the APC. As she raised the back drop door, Cox went into the turret and scouted. "Here they come." He let her take a look. At the edge of the forest surrounding the camp came a thick cloud of smoke. Out of the woods burst the convoy of armored vehicles. She looked to Cox. "They are driving close to each other, aren't they?"

The convoy plowed through the tents and over corpses. It stopped in front of the fuel tower, and the shambling army of Turned behind it - former humans, wildlife, even birds - piled their bodies on the convoy.

Cox and Lucy moved to the door, rifles in hand. Before they reached for the locks, Demmel said, "There's too many. You'll help no one."

The two looked back in shook as Demmel stood before them unbound.

"How did you-" the two said.

"When your a minor leader in a cult, you learn how to get yourself out of bondage."

The Inquisitor raised her brow.

"Its experience that comes from encounters with authorities, paranoid villagers, and everyone else that wants to tie you down or to a burning stake. But that's beside my point. I suggest we leave. Now."

She didn't have time before to take a good look at the short bald Demmel, but now that she had the chance she noticed his robes were just like the cultists in the city. And he did proudly admit to being part of one. "What do you know about the Turned?"

"More than what could be said in this fleeting moment." He moved toward the controls. "We need to leave. Now."

The two stared at him.

He looked back in the driver's seat. "I'll drive. You two look through the turret sights if you want explanation."

They did as they were told. They clung to the turret frame as the APC jolted downhill and past the Turned piling on the convoy. It speed up the climbing road, and Demmel stopped it on the mountainside. "Better view and hard to reach. Also, we'll drive through the structure in the mountain. There's an entrance in the cave we were in a while ago. We just need to blast the rock away from it."

"And how do you know this?" Cox asked. "I'm supposed to be the one informed about the archeological business around here."

"You are also the one who dismissed my visions as magical non-sense," Demmel said with a nasty grin. "But now you see."

"This is what you were worried about?" Cox said. "You could've been clearer."

"This catastrophe was in the background, and the vision hid in the fog that clouds memory after having one." The ground shook. "Look through the sights now, children, and you'll see something that will never leave your memory."

The two looked through the turret sights, and with dropped jaws watched the convoy covered in the bodies of the Turned swell up. The corpses melted as well as the vehicles under them, fusing and twisting. Smoke billowed from the heaping mound. Chunks split off and reconnected in the form of limbs. The mound slammed back on the ground, sending more shockwaves. It rose again, not as a mound, but as a being of melted flesh and machine standing up, towering above all.

Demmel looked out the window and realized they were within reach of the gigantic golem. He shifted gears and turned the wheel, preparing for a quick escape.

Its figure was bulky, with massive shoulders reaching for the clouds. Six strong arms were at its sides, as well as eight thick, long tentacles twitching out of its back.

"I don't recall Chaos titans being made like this."

Demmel grinned. "This is not the work of Chaos-"

The Inquisitor glared at him. He knew of Chaos? A cult leader, of all people on this ignorant world, knew of Chaos.

"But rather," he continued. "The work of a far more ancient power. Or so I've been told."

The beast howled and slung a tentacle their way. Demmel lifted his foot off the break and sped away before the large appendage crashed through their side of the mountain, sending ten-story chunks hurtling toward the encampment below.

"I'll shoot!" The Inquisitor shoved Cox out of the turret and unloaded into the shambling mutant titan.

The titan belched, and vomited a horde of Turned on the road before them. These turned had forms neither of man or beast, but of nightmares. Tentacles, wings unformed, webbed limbs, glowing spots and pulsing veins. . . Demmel put all his weight on the breaks and turned into the cave. The mountain growled as the titan slammed another appendage against the side.

The shambling horde chased after the APC, their movements twitching and unpredictable. Cox looked at them, and the sight made him think of a zombie flick, except the scene where the shambling dead chase after the survivors was four times the speed. The Turned were following at incredible speeds: no normal life form could chase with such twitchy shambling. Their eyes, sometimes scattered all over their bodies, glowed with a bright pink. However, the APC was gaining distance in the cave, as Demmel slammed the breaks, twisted the wheel, and stressed the gearshift with brisk adjustments. Cox's arms flung around, trying to grab onto something as the APC's sudden movements threw him against floor, wall, and ceiling. The adventurer swore he had already broken all his ribs.

The Inquisitor kept firing into the horde.

"Ahead!" Demmel shouted. "Shoot the wall ahead of us!"

The turret swiveled around and unloaded into the rocky target. The wall collapsed and on the other side was an entrance into the mountain complex.

"Hold on!"

The APC crashed through the debris. Demmel steered the vehicle into the supports on one side of the grand hall, sending the roof caving in behind them. The horde shrieked as the mountain fell on them and sealed off the passage behind the fleeing vehicle.

The armored vehicle crashed through another set of doors and flipped over, tossing Cox around the cabin once more. The APC continued to roll over several more times before smashing against a massive fountain and rolling back. It came to rest on its side.

Demmel unfastened his seatbelt and the Inquisitor climbed out of the turret. The back door burst open and Cox stumbled out, collapsed, and vomited all over the floor. The two climbed out behind him.

"You're welcome," said Demmel. "Also, before you begin steaming off, Cox, take a look around you."

Vomit dropped from his 'stache when he looked up. But the beauty of the room distracted him from his mess. "Oh. My. God." Glowing glyphs covered the walls and ceiling. He estimated that ten thousand millennia of recorded history covered the walls. The walls and floors were the same dark material. It felt like a strange alloy that could be only be described as of rock and metal. The ceiling was decorated with what looked like stars, and with how lofty the chamber was it could be easily mistaken for the night sky. The stars and glyphs cast a dim cyan glow.

"I'll grab a towel," said the Inquisitor.


	6. Episode 6: Forbidden Knowledge

Szazadrekh watched the Terran vessel descend. Its ragged exterior glowed as it started to tear into the atmosphere. It was strange. He never considered the vessel to be a threat neither a benefit, but something didn't seem right not only with it just sitting above one location, catching and releasing landing craft. And nothing seemed right about it descending to the planet in fire.

He wondered if this was Kophtet's doing, or more likely Azultep's. "Belakh, call Nephalut. I'd like her to see this." He sat at his throne, chin on fist, thumb rubbing against the shaft of the wand.

Moments later he heard her soft steps approach from behind. He sat on his throne (one of many, the rest on each of the other ships, because he preferred backups), waiting for her to come around.

"At this rate, you'll never have a jaw," she said.

"Come around and take a look at this."

She came around to the front of the throne.

"You think this is Kophtet and Azultep's doing?" the Lord asked.

"Unless they got some giant space gun or figured out how to sabotage the ship from the planet, I doubt it. It could also be his fleet."

"Right." Szazadrekh realized that while the two fleets had mixed together, there had been barely any communication between the two besides the base logistics. He also wondered who could be in charge of that fleet. "Who do you think is his second-in-command?"

"Azultep's?" Nephalut asked.

"Yes, Azultep's. Surely a ruler with a few loose screws like him has someone do all the technical commands, like coordinated navigation and maneuvers. I have Belakh as my second, and I don't remember seeing that old king use scarabs often. I'm sure he wouldn't have a fleet if someone else wasn't in command of it."

"My guess is as good as yours," Nephalut said. "Although I wouldn't be surprised if it was some Scyren."

"But who's in charge of those strange guards? I don't recall any notable royal house that went into the great slumber with guards like that."

"He is surely a strange king," she replied. "From what I've heard, some doubt he even went into slumber, that he's been around for years. That explains the madness. . . Other than rumors I don't know."

"Isn't it your job to answer these questions?"

"These are the questions I'd rather leave unanswered. I don't want to upset a hive of- well. . . You know."

"But if you find the queen-"

"I don't think it works like that." Nephalut placed her hand on her hips. "Now is this why you called me out here? I know better places on the ship where we can flirt since these questions are sweet nothings given the issues at hand. I still have finish the jaw and crack some answers from our little friend."

"Woman, how long does it take to make a single jaw?"

"With a mouth running like yours, I have to make it extra resilient. And did you just call me a woman?" Nephalut leaned back and chuckled. "And here I thought you kept telling yourself I was male. I'm glad you recognize-"

"That you're in a body of a male." Szazadrekh reluctantly sighed. "I've been thinking about Kophtet's claims to be royalty in the body of a peasant-"

"Because he still looks down upon the work of a Cryptek as something below him. As his co-worker I can attest that he is not only sloppy and stingy, but also not Cryptek material."

"I know Crypteks have their insanities, but dear C'tan does he have some screws loose. I think I know what Azultep sees in him. If he is right about his claims to royalty, I can see why he was given the body of a Cryptek and not a ruler. Only the mad and the cruel would put him as ruler of anything."

"Mhm," Nephalut said. "Anyways, I'm heading back. Keep me updated about those two freaks if anything interesting comes up." She walked away, the torn flesh still on her swaying.

Szazadrekh chuckled. "You're one to talk."

* * *

The wand's tip fizzed and popped as Szazadrekh bounced it against the throne's armrest.

Belakh landed in Szazadrekh's lap, chirping.

"Yep. Back to boredom as usual."

Belakh chattered and squeaked.

"Good to know there's no more surprises waiting on this ship."

The scarab danced around and stopped. In the glyph display before them the focus changed from falling Terran vessel to Azultep's flagship. The two prods of it's tuning-fork shape still flanked Szazadrekh's ship. In the center of the massive ancient vessel was a complex of pyramids, with a massive one in the center. "Contact, Belakh."

The scarab hopped aside and scurried off, squeaking and squealing as the glyphs on the walls shifted around the display.

The hissing cosmic static cleared. "Ahem," said the Lord.

"What is it?" said a female voice.

"Is this Azultep's second in command?"

"Speaking."

"Was a shot fired at that Terran vessel?"

A pause. Szazadrekh waited. If a shot was fired, the question would be why. Then he could find out if there were any tangible threats attached to the fall of the Terran vessel, or if its fall actually meant something good - something against the terrible feeling he had.

"None accounted for," she replied.

"Mhm." She could be lying, he thought. Or she had no idea either. . .

Although unrelated, he might as well ask as he had her attention. "Question. Where do the Scyrens come from?"

"That's an answer not for you," she replied.

"Alright then. Thank you very much- wait. Can you at least show me what you look like?"

A pause. Belakh chirped in the background.

"Why?"

"Security reasons," said Szazadrekh. "I would like to have a face accountable for the answer I was given." Was she a Scyren? If not, what other strange rank or servant was she?

"If I am to show my face, you must not relay its appearance to any other."

"I'll hold my word." But what would he tell Nephalut? His chamber was silent to all ears but Belakh's, leaving Szazadrekh as the other only knowledgable mind of what was said. Nephalut wouldn't ask Belakh, as scarabs rarely told their secrets. Plus, Malat knew Belakh well enough that that last thing in the known universe Nephalut would consider would be prying the knowledge out her scarab's close friend. Lying to Nephalut. . . He didn't know if he should. Keeping a secret was dangerous, but so was this conversation. He needed to secure the source of information by seeing her face.

"If anyone else sees this and does not swear to secrecy or keep it, you must either kill them or bring them to me. Do we have a deal?"

Szazadrekh's joints quaked and the tip of his foot spasmed against the floor. He leaned forward in his chair and gripped the armrests. Time was of the essence and he desperately need to verify the source of the Terran vessel's demise considering the threat of a seemingly indestructible Deathmark and his horde on the loose, as well as a wandering Kophtet and Azultep looking for "cake" on the surface. He sighed, and replied, "We do."

The display flickered.

He stood up, shaking in confusion. Belakh dropped from the ceiling and chirped to swear his agreement to secrecy.

The door behind the throne opened, soft foot steps approached the throne, and Szazadrekh's jaw dropped to the floor.

His wand hit the floor and bounced down the steps. Belakh was too surprised by what was displayed to catch it.

The door shut. Malat scurried to the side of Belakh and chirped. Belakh squeaked back. Malat ran back to Nephalut and chirped.

The display flickered again, and the second-in-command was gone.

Szazadrekh rose from his throne and stepped around it. "Jaw?"

"She's his second in command?" Nephalut said. "I'm not easy to scare, but that. . . How does someone get a. . . what do the Terrans call them?"

Szazadrekh approached her. "I guess we're attaching the jaw in your lab?" He too was in a state of shock and a bit of horror of what he just saw-who Azultep's second-in-command was. Belakh scurried about their feet as usual, but the Lord was sure the scarabs were surprised as well. No wonder the second-in-command asked him to kill anyone who did not swear to keep what she looked like secret.

If knowledge spread, there could be an allegiance of races against Azultep, even among the Old Dynasties and Houses, viewing his second-in-command's identity as a threat or a valuable asset. Even those perversions of the Warp that possessed the Terrans could view this adaptation-or what they'd consider to be a horrible mutation, the impossible becoming possible-to be a threat to their existence, a threat that put a crack in the order of opposing forces since the beginning of time. It might as well be on par with the pestilence many Xenos called the "Tyranids" .

Maybe he was over analyzing, maybe there were some errors and inconsistencies in his theories. He had a bad feeling about that Terran vessel falling from orbit and the notion that bad things were on the way. This may be what his instincts were warning him about, this dangerous knowledge. He now wished that he never knew, that he never asked. He should have restrained his curiosity. There were better Lords, better Phaeron's who would be able to possess such knowledge with ease and keep it secret until eternity ran its course.

Regardless, what could he do with this information, what did it mean in regards to the new threat? He found himself in a place he hated, having new answers that created even more questions in times of trouble.

Nephalut looked at the Lord, her half-torn, half-burned flesh on her face expressionless. Malat hopped on her shoulder and gave her an earful. Before the scarab could finish, she told Szazadrekh, "The secret is safe with me."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he said. "There's a lot on my mind right now. Too much to worry about."

"Let's put this new problem on hold. After all, her request to keep it secret gives us reason to set this potential issue aside and deal with what we already have."

"But I can't sit here and do nothing. We need to solve our current problems as soon as possible, or else the burdens we carry will increase and eventually crush us. I've been doing nothing. I don't know what to do. I not sure I know anything at all about what we face. I know I ought to do something, but I'm afraid that by learning anything new I might come across more problems. More questions. More threats.

"That's why I've always been laid back as a Lord. Stepping away from problems saved me from a lot of pain and suffering that I would face had I done something. Silence, passivity, distance. . . Problems solved themselves without my involvement. I could stay a safe distance from issues. Sure, I'd get into fights here and there, but whenever I found the chance to pull away I would. I could accrue more warriors, larger fleets, greater armies and not have to worry about being destroyed. But now. . . Now I've found myself in the epicenter of a problem. It's a problem I know will only grow. That will only become stronger the more I pull away and the less I do."

Nephalut looked at the Lord and then his new jaw in her hands. She looked back at him. "You could send some scouts-"

"I'm not sending Deathmarks down there," he replied. "Neither scarabs."

"Get some wraiths down there."

"It's a big planet."

"Send a legion of wraiths. Several legions. Surround the planet. Contain the problem. You have an army capable of wounding a major Dynasty. You have a fleet that with its combined firepower could cleanse a system. Use what you have. Be a Lord."

"Perhaps." He looked at the new jaw. "But lets solve this problem." He pointed at the new jaw. "I might need some other modifications. I'm too royal, you see-"

"This new jaw and the special Necrodermis is all you need," Nephalut said. "Remember, you have those under you who will fight for you if you give the order. You don't need to be a one-Lord army."

He stood for a moment. Silence rested between them.

"Show the way," Szazadrekh finally said. "Let's get me a new jaw and necrodermis."

The door closed behind them as they walked down the corridor. Back in the room, Belakh leapt onto the throne. Three chirps later and thousands of wraiths were at the ready.


	7. Episode 7: Inside the Labyrinth

The Inquisitor, Cultist, and Adventurer were possessed by the exotic beauty of the room. The Adventurer had seen rooms like it at the base of the mountain, but none were as beautiful as this one. The way the ceiling twinkled, the glyphs on the walls slowly pulsed in brightness to a silent rhythm, the gradual change of colors, the dark glassy surface of the floors and walls, and the fluorescent blue liquid flowing from the fountain seduced him.

The Cultist approached the fountain and observed the flow of the water. It flowed not downward, but upward. It leapt up from the base pool and into the sockets of skulls surrounding the higher pools before lunging into the air and back down into the mouth of a standing humanoid statue. It reminded him of the one in the swamps where the pilgrims before him built the House of Holies hundreds of years ago. While the swamp fountain was massive enough to use as the base structure of the first true temple, this fountain was far more elaborate in the various skulls and creatures posing in the pools, frozen in strange dances.

The fountain in the swamp did not have flowing blue liquid like this one, and what this liquid was and what it did was a mystery to Seeker Demmel. He tore off a piece of his sleeve and dipped it into the pool, expecting it to be subject to some destructive force, desolving, shriveling, boiling, and so forth. He turned away, fearing what fumes may come of the reaction. The cloth soaked up the blue liquid and glowed. Demmel pulled out the cloth, holding his robe against his nose.

The cloth pulsated for a moment, and stopped. The liquid withdrew itself from the cloth and poured upward to a higher fountain pool. Years of wear and tear on the cloth had vanished. To this the Seeker to raised a brow. He looked at his companions, still wandering around, no eyes on the towering fountain that made the armored vehicle seem as small as a kitten. With no one paying attention, the Seeker climbed onto the edge of the lowest pool. He inhaled deeply and jumped.

* * *

Cox did not let the splash steal his attention from this find. His conscience insisted that he not rub his hands against the glyph-covered walls, but the glyphs' fascinating nature begged him to reach out and touch it.

At first he thought they were holograms, but when he touched the walls he realized they were in the stone itself, carved. He traced his finger through a curve and the glyph changed shape, the wall's carving shifting at the touch. "Hey, Lucy! Take a look at this!"

"I saw already!" Her voice did not echo in the vast room. The two looked around.

* * *

The fluid dripped up from his bare scalp as he climbed out of the pool. The liquid pulled up and away from him into the higher pool. Demmel took the torn cloth and the ripped sleeve and dipped it into the blue liquid. He pressed the ragged edges against each other as he dipped. He drew the sleeve from the blue liquid and it was mended, the torn piece part of the sleeve once more.

"Here's a down ramp!" the Inquisitor said. Cox looked over and saw her standing in a large threshold, looking around the corner. "We could drive the APC down this way."

"Why would we drive in here?" Cox approached from behind. "I doubt we'll find fuel."

"Likewise, I don't think the liquid in the fountain will be good for fuel." The short bald man approached from behind, looking a few years younger and in better health. "I don't want to see what happens when such chemistry is made to combust. Not until we can experiment with it properly."

"Experiment?" Lucy was intrigued.

"When you're a fanatic, you need to know what works and what doesn't. Otherwise you're better off jumping into a lake of fire and hoping for the best, and even that's finding out what works and what doesn't. What do you think human sacrifices are? Just wasting life? They're experiments. Sometimes we need to cut up a person to see if flesh and blood will activate the artifacts, and when we do cut up a body its much easier to burn it on the altar rather than take the risk of mass graves being found and our subtle activities being taken out of proportion by the public."

She glared at the short bald man.

He shrugged. "Infidels wouldn't understand."

"How long have you been a cultist?"

"I was a chemistry major," he replied. "Had a few PhD's in other fields. And if you're wondering, it was the gung-ho discovery philosophy that drew me. Secular science is too slow, religious science too restrictive, but Cult science is fast-paced and exciting! Rather than sit in an office and watch footage over and over again, I can do the same experiment again and again! There's no need to restrict ourselves for safety! No need to speed months filling out waivers and talking to lawyers! It's science in the raw!"

Lucy looked to Cox, who shrugged. "I'm a little gung-ho myself, but unlike him I prefer to have some standards. An adventurer without honor is a marauding villain." Cox looked to Seeker Demmel. "No hard feelings."

The Seeker was already halfway down the ramp to the turn at the end. He turned around. "Why don't you lead then?"

"Let me grab my gun."

They followed the twisting ramp deeper down into the mountain. Cox walked in front, but leadership was in the hands of Demmel, discouraging Cox from straying into rooms along the walls and drinking water flowing down a trench in the middle of the ramp. After descending dozens of flights, Demmel had the party turn toward a tunnel opening at the side.

Cox looked back. "And we should trust you because?"

"I've been in places like this before," said Demmel. "I thought you already know that."

Cox grimaced. "Watch your tone."

Demmel looked at Lucy and she shrugged.

The cylindrical tunnel had a bitter, clean scent. So far the interior complex was sterile. There was no dirt or dust, no mold or fungus, just dark with a lukewarm, dry atmosphere. Cool breezes brushed past the three in rhythm to the pulse of the glyphs. The complex seemed to be alive.

"It wasn't this active when we were digging," Cox said. He looked at Demmel.

"No idea."

The three continued walking but then stopped. Down the corridor they heard the mumbling of voices and metallic squeaks.

Cox threw Demmel to the back of the formation and had them press against the concave side of the tunnel. Cox and Lucy took off the safety on their guns and they trotted with light steps toward the end of the corridor. Near the tunnel's end, Cox stopped the group, readied his weapon, and popped out around the corner. Another ramp leading down, however it lead into a large room with various towering structures. He motioned for the other two to follow him. Lucy handed Demmel a combat knife.

The three trotted out the tunnel, across the ramp, to an opposing wall. They descended the ramp to the bottom. Cox raised his fist, inched toward the corner, and peaked around.

He almost dropped his gun.


	8. Episode 8: Self Discovery

Szazadrekh left the lab, his new lower jaw bouncing. The new body part felt strange and foreign, yet familiar. The new Necrodermis also felt strange with a strange ticklish burning sensation running up and down his arms. Supposedly it was better than the rest of the material that made up his body, however Nephalut refused to replace every bit of the old living metal with the new. Her reasoning was that she wanted to keep a large portion to study. Although he had the authority, Szazadrekh chose not to wield it. Knowing a deadly secret about Azultep's second in command while chaos reigned on the planet below made the situation delicate, and losing Nephalut's trust by enforcing his will over her interests was far beyond consideration. Nephalut most likely knew things she had not told him yet, and to break ties now would result in him losing a potential ally in the oncoming strife.

Nephalut followed him out and the two returned to his throne where they watched the reports come in from the Wraiths.

Szazadrekh's jaw loosened, and Belakh caught it before it fell. Nephalut sighed. "I don't know what those are," she said. "But its definitely Necron."

"Doesn't look like it came from our ship," Szazadrekh said as Belakh reattached his jaw. "I don't remember Kophtet having any level of craftsmanship, never mind this high quality. Belakh, check with the rest of the fleet." The scarab jumped off and scurried into the shadows. The Lord turned to Nephalut. "Maybe we should ask our friend."

"Maybe," said Nephalut.

"Belakh! Call our dear friend."

The Display glyphs organized themselves and fizzed into clarity as Azultep's second-in-command came into view. "Kahz'rael?"

"Yes?" Her face was corrupted by her melancholy pout. She gazed down upon the Lord and Cryptek in her usual patronizing glare, the shadow around her eyes enhanced by the shadows around her.

"Have any information this?" Szazadrekh tapped at a few glyphs and soon Kahz'rael was observing the data. A brow of hers rose.

"No." She said. "No I don't. Neither will any of Azultep's forces assist you. Are there any other questions?"

"Currently, no." Szazadrekh said.

"Goodbye." And she vanished.

"She isn't telling us something," Szazadrekh said.

Nephalut sighed and pet Malat. "Obvious is obvious. I'm thinking we should do it ourselves, seeing as theres still rogue Deathmarks down there and the only ones best equipped to deal with them are ourselves, as far as we know."

The Lord caressed his jaw. "Let's not leave Azultep and Kophtet out of the picture."

"I wouldn't rely on them to take care of the Deathmarks. After all, that ancient automaton is on a pastry hunt."

Szazadrekh rested his chin on his fist and took a moment.

"Think of the logistics," Nephalut added. "You send an entire army down there. You have those Deathmarks and those parasitic things. It's going to be a mess, more of a mess than it was up here, and you surely remember how it was like up here with just those Deathmarks."

"Go on."

"So instead of sending an army down there to get cut to pieces, we keep it small, elite, and direct."

"We already sent wraiths-"

"Correct, but I doubt their ability as well as any other Canoptek or warrior of ours to deal with a hot location like down there, where the stability of the situation is fluid and can turn any moment."

"So we don't send any army, squad- Am I right in thinking you're again suggesting we ourselves go down there."

"Obvious is obvious. We're the best equipped."

Szazadrekh slouched back in his chair. "Oh my C'tan. . . You do remember what I said a while ago, about my preference to stay away from danger?"

"But you also said this was a serious problem, and you didn't know what to do. If I remember correctly you also said you were, along the lines of, going to face this problem directly."

"Did I?" Szazadrekh scratched his chin. "Eternity can whittle at the memory quite a bit."

"I believe you did. Regardless, we should go down there and deal with it ourselves." She brushed her finger down his wrist and forearm. "We're equipped for dealing with this issue."

"Stop repeating yourself, and do give me a while to think. I'm not that forgetful. . ." Szazadrekh said. "Neither do I want to rush into the fray head first."

"Of course," she replied and left the Lord be.

*********#####**********

Nephalut touched the torn skin as she gazed into her reflection on the wall. The pieces of burnt flesh, torn bits of hair. . . It was all ruined thanks to that Deathmark.

She did not regret being turned into an immortal machine, but she did miss the perks of being flesh and bone. Even in all the suffering that flesh and bone brought, she felt alive. Life around her felt. . .

Real.

The problem with immortality, she felt, was that everything seemed like it was one long dream, one great slumber. It was like she entered those furnaces and fell asleep in their scorching warmth, only to dream forever.

Although she did not feel entirely numb, there was a slight feeling of it, a feeling that what was around her was not real. That perhaps she wasn't real.

Ever since she traded her flesh and bone, she was stuck on a cliff where the firm ground of assuredness stopped and the abyss of the unknown began. As a Cryptek it was her duty to venture into the unknown. However, this unknown was unfamiliar territory, something not in her usual field. . . This unknown of not the physical, but the meta-physical.

It disturbed her.

Other unknowns had some sense of beginning, some sense that there was something out there to grasp or to head back to, something to begin understanding. She knew what she lacked, and she knew what it was like to have and to not have what she lacked. But she did not know what to reach out for, what to seek and what goal to reach.

For a moment she glanced at the little mechanical scorpion on the table. The same scorpion that was with the mutant Ork. She thought she remembered some strange conversation between the two, about finding goals unknown. Did she still have the head? She wasn't sure.

"Malat," she said. "I want you to repair our little rogue automaton in containment. Save him until I return."

She knew who she was in the present, who she was in the past, and was comfortable to whoever she would be in the future. Identity wasn't what she struggled with, rather it was her connection to that around her. She knew where she fit it, but it was the experience of fitting in to her surroundings, her place in life, that she had difficulty with. She was sure of where she was, but not her senses. She felt pleasure and pain, but she also felt a bit numb.

The door to the lab opened, and in came a wraith. In its grasp was the corpse of a Terran female. Brought with her was a strong Terran male. The pair were of fair skin. On the male was brown hair, and the female blonde. Nephalut wasn't keen on light hair colors or pale skin. She would have to alter the pigments in order to make the skin feel more natural with a darker flesh and black hair. The torn blue flesh that she wore, pale enough that it appeared bleached, had never matched how she saw herself.

She pointed to the other side of the room. The wraith passed her, and she felt the difference between how a breeze felt on Necrodermis compared to skin. The skin, although numb, sent a more vivid sensation. Skin was great, and she knew how to produce it in the lab. However, harvesting from corpses was more feasible than spending the time molding grown flesh and working out the details. She preferred the authenticity of natural skin, and here it was.

"Malat," she said. "Bring Szazadrekh." She had a plan, but would he go along with it?


	9. Chapter 9: Seeking Answers

Cox clung to his gun and peaked around the corner. He looked into Demmel's eyes, and looked around the corner. He looked back into Demmel's eyes and looked around the corner again.

"What is it?" Demmel whispered.

Cox held up a finger and moved his lips.

Demmel understood the mouthing: "Take a look".

Cox shifted back and the Seeker took point, knife in hand. He turned two his two companions. "Stay here," he mouthed.

The bald man approached the two oddities while trying to remain calm. As a cultist he was used to seeing what many would faint to, but what was before him trumped all of his experience. Only through a strong will was he able to get closer without collapsing to the floor and screaming.

The two oddities towered above him. He was relatively short to most people, however he considered most people not as tall but of normal height. These two things, particularly the one on the left, towered over most people.

He stopped a few paces away from them, not wanting to appear threatening. At that thought he almost chuckled considering who-or what-he was up against. Yet he strongly preferred civility in this case.

The two things were at consoles filled with glyphs. Their long fingers snapped against the glowing marks as other glyphs danced across the walls, flashing in all manner of colors. A soft hum surrounded the room, increasing or decreasing as the glyphs shifted and shaped. Against the wall towered statues of what appeared to be a female guard of sorts. They stood upon thick bases, arms crossed against their chest, and legs crossed against the wall. Their dark gazes fixated upon the floor before them.

Demmel looked back to the corner where an impatient Cox glared at him. Demmel raised his finger and looked back to the two strange things busy at the consoles, marveling at who they might be. Were they the ancients he admired and looked for? Were these forms truly their perfect appearance? He had many questions, but surely there was a language barrier.

If there was a language barrier, then what the hell was he expecting by standing behind them? This was absolutely pointless. Then again, his other options were cowering behind a corner with Cox and the lady, or continuing through the complex and take the chance of encountering these two oddities again.

He was a cultist, a man of extreme science. He should-

The two oddities turned to look at him.

The oddity to the left, who had a machine body of a man mounted to a body of a spider at his waist, released long segmented tentacles from his spine and arachnid lower half. The shorter oddity to the right, dressed in some ancient royal garb complex and luxurious, raised a finger. The statues unfolded and stepped down from their pedestals. Eight of them went around the corner and faced the Captain and the Inquisitor, who drew their weapons.

The arachnid-humanoid-skeletal-machine thing approached the cultist, but was stopped by the other skeletal-machine thing. The ancient ruler approached the cultist. Even when squatting, the ruler towered over the cultist.

The cultist waved at the large figure and looked at the living statues surrounding them. Their skin was no longer like the metal of the room, but appeared to be a smooth golden flesh. He glanced back at ancient automaton ruler who mirrored his wave. Demmel stopped waving.

The ruler stopped waving and poked Demmel's stomach, almost knocking the cultist off his feet. The arachnid cleared its throat and the ruler chuckled.

"Hello," said Demmel.

"Hello," the ruler echoed.

"Pardon my companions and I for entering your house, it's just that there's something. . . ungodly outside, if that makes any sense." Demmel felt pure futility. Maybe the ruler said Hello because it couldn't understand him. His ears were ready to hear his words repeated to him.

The ruler stood up and looked to his arachnid partner. They chattered in an ancient tongue. By now, Cox and Lucy were behind Demmel, having walked to him under the stoic gaze of the statues.

To the two, the alien chatter was meaningless, but Demmel understood a few words here and there: "Thing. . . Outside. . . other Cryptek. . . forgotten. . . birth cake. . ."

Demmel wasn't too familiar with terms like "Cryptek" and was thrown off by "birth cake". Surely "birth cake" was code for something, or maybe he was just misinterpreting.

The arachnid turned to his console of glyphs and began tapping away, muttering words to it. His fingers snapped like lightning and his words crackled as thunder. He stopped, looked to the ruler, and muttered a few words. The ruler scratched his head and shrugged. The arachnid sighed.

He looked over at the three humans below and fully extended his segmented tentacles.

The ruler raised his hand. "Uh!"

The arachnid's gaze burned with a deity's rage.

Some of the statues around the three humans left the chamber and returned with a chair. They then rested it on the arachnid's second abdomen. The statues helped the ruler onto the throne, and the procession left the room.

The cultist stood there, frozen. "Not many can say they've met-"

"Iron Gods?" Cox said.

"Ancients."

"Close enough." Cox grinned. "I've witnessed many strange things in my life, but this week has trumped all." He looked over to the Inquisitor.

"I'd agree, to a degree though," Lucy said. "I've seen stranger things, yet I was familiar with them in some aspect. These past few days have been something else entirely."

"So what now?" said Demmel. "Continue on and maybe run into them again, or?"

"I say we head back to the APC, see if we can flip it over, and set up camp," Cox replied. "Or drive in somewhere and find a small room to stay in. Sure, smaller rooms are harder to fight in, but it would make watching all the corners much easier considering the situation we're in."

"It is preferable to be within a box within a box of enemies than to just be in a box of enemies."

Cox raised his brow. "Would you be so kind to repeat yourself in anything but gibberish?"

Lucy stepped between them. "Let's go."

The men nodded.

#

After a few hours of different, creative attempts, the party of three managed to flip the APC over and began to sort its scattered insides. Once the cabinets were re-organized and the mess of items was set on a tarp outside, Cox and Lucy checked the engine and left Demmel to do as he wished. Cox didn't trust the cultist tampering with what could possibly be their only ticket to survival.

Demmel wasn't too offended, as he now had more time to study their surroundings. However, he prioritized meditating on Ancients' conversation. The ruler seemed to have an affinity for cake, and seeing how the ruler curbed the arachnid's temper Demmel concluded that the two were searching for none other than a birthday cake. Whether or not this was code for something truly eldritch-perhaps a term for what was outside or a weapon to counter the chaos-Demmel wasn't sure.

Demmel then wondered why the two automatons were searching this old place. Maybe it was their home and they had simply misplaced this, 'birthday cake'. Or maybe, assuming the term was literal, they were searching for actual cake or the ingredients. Or maybe the cake was a misinterpretation due to a dialect different to what Demmel understood.

The Seeker was a man of extreme science, of dangerous discovery. If he were not a cultist, he would sit there and talk among the other two, who for sure had less of a clue about this "cake" than he did. He would then spend hours upon hours of research, trying to find answers while doing his best for everyone's safety.

The Seeker did not prioritize safety among his many interests.

He looked back at the open back doors of the APC. "Need any assistance soon?"

"No thank you!" said Cox. "We're fine. Stay out of trouble."

The short bald man grinned. Resisting nature by avoiding trouble would only increase their chances of getting into it. Might as well dive into oblivion head first.

"Pardon me-"

"WHAT?!" Cox's voice echoed in the APC.

"I'm just going to find a place to relieve myself."

"Wonderful. Just be back by supper or I'm leaving you in here to die."

Demmel grinned. "Because apparently you've known where we've been all along and just pretended to be completely clueless!"

The adventurer growled within the armored chassis.

The Seeker knew what to do: find the two automatons and talk to them. They did appear threatening and horrifying, but then again, the rooms were immense. Maybe they were just a bit taller than he was, and the room made them seem huge. Maybe some of that blue glowing fluid was in the air, or some other substance. Regardless, he would find them and ask what they were searching for.

He pulled hood over head and charged into the depths of the complex. He slowed to a light jog as he wandered the labyrinth. He knew well enough that he would eventually be lost, but when was being lost bad? He grinned. This was more like it. The on-the-edge philosophy of discovery sent his heart racing. His world would burn, but he would know why and how. He would know how to stop it from burning, and to set it burning again. Knowledge was power. Years of observation taught Demmel that gaining power was merely a part of nature.

He would be following the most natural of processes: get big, get powerful, dispense strength, and then rest. Life and death summarized. He would use strength to get further strength. How he'd use it, he had a few ideas. He would decide when he got there. No point in wasting time and energy planning only to have it dashed by a small error or misfortune.


End file.
